Sin City Kids
by Theodore Barrington
Summary: Hey guys, Barrington here, I have been inactive for a while, but I'm going to attempt to post a new story over the course of the next couple of days. This idea came to me in a dream last night. As a warning, It might get violent, but hopefully not too violent. This is just the teaser, so keep an eye out for the rest of it! Mostly OC's for now...
1. Prologue

Basin City.

This hellhole is a perversion of the very idea of civilization. From the fat cats at the top, to the dregs of humanity at the other end, this city has a way of dragging you down to its own depraved level, no matter who you are. Escape from Sin City is virtually impossible. You can try to get out, try to claw your way to freedom, but it just pulls you back in, kicking and screaming.

Many have tried to escape the city's clutches, including the flame-haired individual mixing it up down in a pit.

His name is William Peyton, better known as Billy the Kid.

This is his story.


	2. Billy the Kid

**THWACK!**

My head snaps back as I roll with the hay-maker. It glances off my right cheek. It stings, but I shake it off. It's not like I haven't been punched before.

The guy I'm up against is from Venezuela. I think they said his name is Romero. He's a good foot shorter than me and about thirty pounds lighter. He's quick on his feet, dancing around me like a Cessna buzzing a zeppelin. He's already tagged me about a dozen times.

**Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack!**

Make that sixteen times. He's fast, but he's lacking in power and has little precision. His punches are wild and only hit my forearms or shoulders, not counting his one lucky shot to my face.

This has been going on for about a minute and a half and I can feel the audience getting restless. They're waiting for me to actually take a swing myself.

I look around the walls of our makeshift arena at all the people gathered here. Seeing a certain face in the crowd, I lock on. The guy looks at me and raises his left arm. That's the signal. It's time for me to finish this.

Romero is gearing up for a roundhouse, but I'm ready for it.

**Thock!**

I catch his foot right before he connects, then sweep the other leg. He goes down hard. Someone in the audience cheers. Romero is on his feet again. He runs up the nearest wall, using it to push off and aim a flying kick at my head. Only, I'm not there anymore. He lands, off-balance, and I kick him in the rear. This gets a chuckle from the crowd.

Romero loses it. He charges at me, all piss and vinegar. It's exactly what I was banking on. I'm standing with my back to him. From here, there are five different ways I can take him down without killing him. They don't pay me for that.

I elbow in the face.  
Hard.  
Probably loosened a few teeth. But I'm not done yet.

Grabbing him by the shoulders, I bring my knee up and get him square in the gut. He folds like paper. I throw my weight into him and we go down together.  
Down into the sawdust and wood-shavings.  
I get him in an arm-bar and pull. Either Romero taps out, or I keep increasing the pressure, simple as that.  
He doesn't give.  
I keep pulling the arm back until finally there's a loud  
**SNAP!  
**Romero screams in pain. The crowd goes nuts.

Romero finally taps and I release him. Standing up, I make my way over to the rope ladder being lowered into the pit.

I feel…nothing.

No relief. No elation. No pride. No rush. Not even the satisfaction of a job well done. I had a task to complete and I completed it. That's all there is to it.

I am numb.

Just numb...


	3. Vinnie

There're a couple of demountable buildings near the pit for us fighters to retreat to if we don't feel like talking to our adoring public, which I don't. I'm stripped down to my jocks, examining the damage in the mirror: there are a couple of bruises, but nothing too bad. Reaching down, I check the bandage on my leg, just below my waist, still healing from when I got shot last week. Luckily the wound hasn't re-opened.

Looking back in the mirror, I become transfixed by the person before me. I'm not an especially big man, but I'm taller than average and well-built enough for people to take me seriously. Absently, I run a hand over my red hair, close-cut to make it harder to get a hold of when grappling and matches my signature goatee.

I sigh.  
Thirty-five years in this hole of a city and I'll probably be another thirty-five.

The sounds of the outside world slowly seep in: People laughing and shouting and arguing, clinking beer-bottles together in celebration or grumbling as money changes hands for bets won or lost. I sigh once more, put my clothes on and step out of the sanctuary of the demountable.

People who notice me either slap me on the back to congratulate me or give me dirty looks. I don't return either. I spy the guy I'm looking for and make a bee-line straight for him.

Vincenzo Salvatore Junior: my fight manager, good friend and heir to the Salvatore family legacy. Eight years ago, I saved his father from a disgruntled cop who lost his job when they found out that he was on the take. Grateful, Salvatore Senior offered me a job. Having no other real prospects, I accepted and soon became both a top enforcer and a part of the family. The pit fighting is just to earn a little cash on the side.

Junior, or "Vinnie" as he prefers to be called, is well-liked by everyone, even if he is a bit of a flake. He doesn't have the experience, tact or business savvy of his old man, but he has a lot of people skills and a great head for numbers. Although he has a lot of cousins and other relatives, Vinnie is an only child, making him Vincenzo Senior's sole heir.

Vinnie grins broadly as he greets me.

"That was a damn fine show, Billy," he says, shaking my hand and giving me the envelope containing my share of the winnings; twelve thousand dollars. "They absolutely loved you out there. Oh, and don't worry, I talked to Romero's manager it's only a dislocation, not a break. He'll be back at work by Monday."

I wasn't worried. I just did what I had to do.

"Neil's got the car out front," Vinnie tells me. "We're going to Old Town."

I'm not particularly thrilled, but it's my job to keep an eye on Vinnie.

"Alright," I say, and we push through the crowd to where Neil, the third member of our ragtag trio waits in the Jag.


	4. Old Town

We pull up outside a dilapidated brownstone, right in the center of Old Town. Vinnie goes in alone while Neil and I wait out by the car. I lean against the hood, taking in my surroundings. Beside me, Neil fidgets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again. Being here makes him uneasy, and while I don't share the feeling, I don't blame him. We both feel the steely gaze of unseen eyes watching us. Like me, he has a Beretta under his jacket, but they offer little comfort. If it even looked like we were going for our guns, we'd be cut down by a dozen shotguns, rifles and submachine guns before we could we could even draw them from their holsters.

The girls of Old Town.  
Beautiful and deadly- the angels of death.

They own these parts and unless they're soliciting, pimps, police and mobsters aren't welcome here.

Vinnie has an understanding with some of the girls around here which give us some leeway, but all the same, we keep our hands visible at all times and try not to push our luck.

My partner takes his packet of smokes from the dashboard, fumbling awkwardly with the lighter.

Neil Burke was originally from Australia, but has been living in this hell on earth for the past five years or so. He's also my best friend. While he's not actually a part of the family, Salvatore lets him hang around out of deference to me. We work together a lot.

He finally manages to light up and takes a long drag.

"What d' ya reckon he gets up to in their?" he asks.

I shrug. I've never really thought about it. After every fight, we come out to Old Town and Vinnie goes into that brownstone with his cut.

"I mean, he's in and out of there too quickly to be doing the obvious."

"I dunno. Maybe it's child support," I offer.

"Y' think so?"

Across the street, there's a sudden

**CRASH!**

...followed by angry yelling.

My first instinct is to pull iron, but then I remember where we are.  
This isn't our fight.

Some punk has barreled through a flimsy screen door. His haste and lack of pants indicate that he's done something incredibly stupid. There's an Amazon war-cry and a girl bursts and throws an axe at him. Not a hatchet or a tomahawk either. A dirty great big fireman's axe. It buries itself in his bed with a loud, wet

**THUNK!**

The man screams and kisses the tarmac. The girl pulls out the axe, rolls the guy onto his side, reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a billfold. Judging by the cut on her lip, the schmuck must've got rough with her, trying to take his money back.

Two _very_ big mistakes.  
The girls of Old Town have a very strict "No Refunds" policy, eclipsed only by their "No Tolerance for Assholes" policy.

Here, the girls dispense their own brand of justice.  
Here, they are judge, jury and often executioner.  
Here, they are the law.

The rules are simple: pay up front, be respectful and keep your hands to yourself unless explicitly given permission to do otherwise.  
Follow the rules and everybody wins.  
Break the rules and you won't live long enough to regret it.

A couple more girls come out to loot the body and drag it back into their block of flats to be dealt with once the sun's gone down. Knowing better than to draw attention to ourselves, we look away.

"Strewth," Neil mutters under his breath, "Those birds are mental."

"Careful, if those _birds_ hear you, we'll be next," I warn him.

"Alright boys," says Vinnie, coming out of the brownstone. "Let's roll. We don't wanna be late now, do we?"

Today also happens to be Vinnie's 30th birthday and Vincenzo Senior is throwing a big dinner party for his son. We all pile back into the Jag and take off.

As we leave Old Town, I spot someone standing on the roof of the brownstone, watching us go.

I can't be sure, but it looks like they're wearing a samurai sword…


	5. The Gift

Vinnie's party is a big event. The entire Salvatore family is here as well as the Licciardellos, another family that we are on good terms with. I see a handful of Vinnie's old college buddies here and a few bigwig city officials that Vincenzo has some sway with. All up, there are about eighty people here, not counting kitchen staff, waitresses and the seven piece swing band. It's a number I can handle, although we're all outside, which means that there's a lot more to take into account.

The music is so lively, the food is so aromatic and the people are so cheerful, yet I can't bring myself to enjoy the party. I look over and see Neil swapping dirty jokes with the assistant D.A. Vinnie is dancing with one of his nieces like the nice uncle that he is. Even Vincenzo enjoys a fine Cuban cigar with the head of the Licciardello family.

All I can think about is how uncomfortable I am in this damn monkey suit.  
I had to borrow the bow tie from Neil.  
It's too big and keeps slipping down my neck.

It's the Compact Uzi resting in its sling under my jacket, the Beretta M9 nuzzling my waist and the butterfly knife strapped to my ankle that give me more peace of mind. Vinnie wouldn't approve, but I can't push the thought out of my head that something is going to happen tonight and I want to be ready.

After about an hour, Vincenzo calls for everyone's attention and gives a short speech about the birthday boy. I try to listen, but only hear bits and pieces while I scan the crowd for anybody who could be a potential threat. Vincenzo raises his glass in a toast, and even I join in, before he gives Vinnie his present.

It's a .25 revolver.

It's the same gun that got Vincenzo's grandfather- the man who built the Salvatore family empire- through WWI. That same gun got his son through WWII, Vincenzo himself through Korea and was now Vinnie's.

I can tell that Vinnie is conflicted.

To the Salvatore family, the revolver is symbolic of the father passing down the title of Don to his title to his son.  
To Vinnie, it represented a burden that he doesn't want.

He's never fired a gun in his life, let alone fought in a war. Managing one underground street-fighter is one thing, leasing an entire family in organized crime is completely different. But Vinnie knows better to refuse the gift, which in the eyes of his family, would be highly disrespectful. So, he graciously accepts the revolver, playing down his discomfort by joking around.

"Wow," he says, taking the case. "Where's a cowboy hat when you need one?"

That gets a good chuckle from everyone.

He removes the gun, gives it a little twirl and in his best Clint Eastwood voice says "Well, this has really…made my day." Everyone cheers and the music resumes.

And that's when it happens.

"Will?"

It's just one word.

One single word, that still makes me stop dead in my tracks.

I feel the back of my neck start to tingle and my mouth goes dry.

I already know who it is. There's only one person who's _ever_ called me Will instead of Billy or William.  
I turn around anyway.

There she stands, like some angelic vision, even more beautiful and more radiant than I remember her. For almost seventeen years now, I've barely felt an emotion, taking everything as it came in my stride. If I was asked to do something, I did it straightaway or I didn't do it at all. No questions asked, no ethics debated and no second guessing. But now, just one glance at her and all these long suppressed emotions come flooding back.

I see her svelte, yet shapely figure, all natural and all woman.

I see her pale skin, finer and more delicate than any china.

I see her shoulder length hair, golden and wavy, where it was once short, straight and dark.

I see her crystal clear blue eyes that outshine her blue- sequined cocktail dress.

I see that dazzling, infections smile that always made my heart race and my pulse quicken, just like they are doing now.

I see her, and immediately the night has gotten a million times better.

Anya.

Wonderful, amazing, beautiful, magnificent, gorgeous, breathtaking Anya.

The one that got away…


	6. Familiar Faces

I thought I was ready for anything.

I was not ready for this.  
I was not ready for _her._

For the first time in too many years, I feel something.  
I feel like I'm eighteen again.  
I feel warmth.

I almost don't hear her ask:

"Is that really you?"

I manage a nod.

"Wow! It's been so long! How are you?"

It takes me five full seconds and two false starts until I can finally get out a reply.  
"'m good," I croak.

After a few more seconds, the initial shock passes enough for me to start stringing together coherent sentences.

Anya Donavan.

We used to be another couple of crazy kids who grew up together in Basin City and just happened to fall in love. Of course, this place, this city of the _damned_, eventually crushes anything good, anything that makes you truly happy.

Evidently deciding that they'd had enough of this town, her parents upped and left, without word or warning. She managed to sneak out and see me once more the night they left, just long enough to tell me that they were going to Los Angeles and how much she was going to miss me. It damn near killed me to her her say that, but I soon came to realize that she was better off elsewhere. I had no right to hold her back.

Anya had always wanted to be an actor. Thanks to her parents though, she often had doubts about her ability. I always thought that she was talented enough and told her often. Unfortunately, Hollywood didn't see it that way.

Their loss.

"I tried writing to you, but mom or dad would always find my letter and get rid of it."

I believe her.

See, her folks had never liked me, a fact that they made abundantly clear. One time, her father caught me kissing her outside the house, ran out and beat the tar out of me.

Anya tells me that both of her parents died twelve years back. After living on her own in L.A for several years with no success, she travelled the country until finally moving back here a couple of weeks ago.

"I had a bunch of different jobs and I lived in all kinds of places," she says. "But nowhere really felt like home, you know? So I came back to this sinkhole of a town. It's so weird, but I felt like I was being drawn back here."

It's not that weird.  
Once a Sin City Kid, always a Sin City Kid.

She tells me that the only affordable accommodation she could find was a small apartment with the girls of Old Town. She assures me that it's just for the cheap board, she's actually waitressing for a catering company, which explains the blue dress.

We talk a while longer and I tell her about my involvement with Vincenzo. I never could lie to her. I expect her to be intimidated by the revelation that I'm now a gangster, but she seems genuinely interested in my story.

Suddenly, I realize that the band has stopped playing. Looking into the crowd, it takes me about three seconds to spot the reason why.

It's not good…


	7. The Prodigal

Everyone has grown silent as the notice the two figures standing on the dance-floor, facing each-other.

One is Vinnie.

The other is Tony.

When I said that the entire Salvatore family is here, I wasn't counting the one member who _shouldn't_ be here: Antonio Salvatore.

Tony is the eldest son of Vincenzo's brother, Giovanni. He was cut off from the Salvatore family when he defected to the Russians, soon after I was employed by Vincenzo. Although no one could prove it, everyone suspected him of the disappearance of his brother Joseph. Later, it was discovered that Tony had been leaking vital information about his family's operations to their rival, Pavel Ivanovich, the head of the Basin City chapter of the Russian Mafiya. The final straw came when he stole a large sum of money from his father and fled the city, leaving only a note saying that he was joining Ivanovich. His mother, Renata, died shortly after, her heart broken.

Distraught, Giovanni blamed him for this as well and Vincenzo labelled him "M'al occhio" (Cursed with the Evil Eye) and renounced him.

But now, here he is. I don't know how he got past the guards at the front gate, but I'm stopping him here and now.

I go for my Beretta and I know that Neil is doing the same.

Vinnie holds up both hands and calls for us to stop.

"Put your guns away," he pleads. "Please."

"What is that dog doing here?" asks Vincenzo.

"He's here because I asked him to be," says Vinnie. "So please, no guns."

Against our better judgement, Neil and I do so. A couple of the others on security detail aren't so sure.

"Explain yourself, Junior!" Vincenzo demands. Giovanni can't even bring himself to look at his son.

"Look, a couple of days ago, Tony called me. He said that everything had fallen apart and that he was tormented by his sins. He told me that he wanted to repent. So I invited him here to make his peace with you all."

A murmur ripples through the crowd. Nobody wants to believe that this is true. Then again, Vinnie has always been a good judge of character.

"Please, father, let me vouch for him," he continues. "If I am going to be the new head of this family, I want us to be driven by compassion, not hunger for retribution."

Vincenzo considers this, then looks to Tony.

"Honoured Uncle," says Tony, keeping his head down, submissively. "And my beloved Father. I know that my actions are inexcusable. But I've had years to dwell upon what I have done and I want to make restitution. I _need_ to make restitution, to save my soul. So, I humbly beg you to allow me to do whatever it takes to repay you and my family for all my wrongs."

I'm surprised. Tony was never this eloquent before. I never considered him to be much of an actor, so maybe he is genuine. Vincenzo is taken aback as well, though this sort of thing has happened before.

"Very well," he says after a while. "Junior, you are personally responsible for overseeing this man's penance, with my blessing."

Vinnie smiles broadly.

"Thank-you, father," he says, and then turns to the crowd. "With everyone here as my witness, I welcome Tony back into the Salvatore family!"

Vinnie embraces his cousin and everyone applauds.  
Even me.  
I could never do what he has done.  
I have never met anyone so forgiving and generous as Vinnie.

I look over to Anya, her eyes are shining and she claps as loud and hard as anyone in the Salvatore family. As I watch her, the rest of the party melts away, until all I can see is her.

That's when I realize that I need to at least try to reconnect with her.

Touching he arm, I'm about to ask if she wants to go for coffee sometime, when I notice the look of horror crossing her face. It's one that I've seen only once before: the day she helplessly watched her father beat me. I follow her gaze and everything slows as reality comes crashing back.

There is a collective gasp as Vinnie suddenly straightens up in Tony's grasp, then slumps forward.  
A six-inch stiletto knife is buried in his back.

With deft, surgical precision, Tony pulls out the blade and slashes Vinnie's throat. Vinnie is too shocked to even make a sound as he collapses to the ground, bleeding heavily.

"With sincerest compliments of Pavel Ivanovich," crows Tony.

The sudden brutality of Vinnie's murder shocks us all for a few seconds that stretch into lifetimes.

Strangely, it's one the Licciardellos' that make the first move, going for his gun.

"Eat lead, you little bastard!"

But Tony is quicker. He throws the stiletto, nailing the guy right between the eyes.  
He drops.

Somewhere, a waitress screams as everybody snaps out of the collective trance.

Now Neil and I go for our pistols, but Tony, moving with the speed of a striking viper, grabs the niece that Vinnie danced with by the hair. There is a flash of steel and he has a scalpel in his hand. He presses the flat of it against her neck.

"Put your guns down and get back, you spaghetti-sucking greasers," he sneers, "Or I carve the little princess a nice new smile."

We don't hesitate.  
We don't have a choice.  
We put our guns down.

The crowd parts as Tony drags the girl back towards the house.

One of Vinnie's college buddies is a doctor and tries to stop the bleeding, even though we all know it's too late for Vinnie, just as it is too late for the guard.

I start to follow Tony at a distance. I cross paths with Vincenzo, who leans in, puts something in my coat-pocket and whispers three words into my ear, before going to his son.  
Three words and I know what must be done.

As I pass by the gift table, I pick up the .25, load it with the six shells Vincenzo gave me and tuck it into the back of my cummerbund. Finally, this pathetic excuse for a piece of clothing has a use…


	8. Bad Blood

Neil and I catch up to Tony and his hostage, little Nina, as they reach the front door of the house. He struggles to open it, while still keeping his grip on the girl. Her eyes are wide with fear, but she doesn't make a noise. She won't give him the satisfaction. She's a Salvatore alright.

We keep our arms up, hands open to show that we're unarmed as we approach.

"I thought I told you to back off."

"Let Nina go," I say. "I'll be your hostage instead."

There's no way he'll trade, and we all know it. I'm just stalling until an opportunity presents itself. A burning rage I haven't felt for so long, fills me, and it takes everything I have not to empty the revolver into this bastard.  
I can't. Not while he still has Nina.

"You know, I _am_ glad you're here Billy," says Tony. "You and your boyfriend from Down Under."

"Watch it, wanker," growls Neil.

Tony ignores him.

"Until you came along, Vinnie was _my_ best friend. You took that away from me!"

"No, you forfeited the right to call him your friend when you betrayed your family," I tell him. "Was it worth whatever scraps you could scavenge from Ivanovich?"

Tony grins.

"Scraps? Oh no Billy, far from it. I'm getting 750 thousand from Ivanovich _himself_ for this. Of course," he adds, "I'd have done it all for free."

"Be smart Tony," I warn him. "You realize that if you hurt the girl, there's nothing to stop me tearing you apart."

"Challenge accepted," says Tony and turns the sharp edge towards Nina's throat.

Suddenly, Paul –one of the guards at the gate- bursts through the doorway and grabs Tony in a chokehold.

The good news is that Tony panics and releases Nina, who runs past us and back to her mother.  
Unfortunately, he also plunges the scalpel through Paul's eye and into his brain, killing him instantly.

Paul falls, but he's given me just the opening I need.  
Whipping out the .25, I level it at Tony in one, smooth, practiced motion.

**BLAM!**

The bullet finds its way into his kneecap.

Tony staggers back, howling in pain. I run up and kick him in the chest, sending him flying through the doorway and down onto the gravel driveway. I stomp down on his chest again and feel something crunch beneath my foot.

A rib, maybe two, or maybe more, is now broken. Tony screams again. It'll be hard for him to even breathe now. He may even have a punctured lung.

I don't cared.

Now, the rage has cooled into cold, steeled, nerves.

After everything that Tony has done, there is only one possible outcome here.

Vengeance demands his blood and so does Vincenzo.  
He whispered three words into my ear, and _only_ three words.

Make. It. Hurt.

So that's what I do...


	9. Make It Hurt

Even as I stand over him, .25 in my hand, Tony shows no fear.

He not feel any after I'm through with him, but he _will_ know pain.

Neil watches from the door. He desperately wants a crack at Tony, Vinnie was his friend too, but he knows that this is something only I can do.

Nevertheless, he stands with his backup gun, a Ruger LCP pistol, at the ready, just in case.

Even yesterday, I would have never dreamed about doing what I'm about to do, but then I think of Vinnie and I think of Paul.  
I think of Vincenzo and Giovanni.  
I think of Anya and little Nina.

The rest comes easily.

I step on Tony's wounded knee. He grunts in pain, still struggling to breathe.

"Don't pass out on me yet Tony. We're not done yet."

Some joker once expressed his preference for knives was because "guns were too quick." But if you know all the right places to hit, you can make a shooting last a long time. Being a smaller calibre, a .25 does less damage than most guns, but enough to make you notice if you get shot repeatedly.

Five bullets remain in the revolver.  
Five bullets, for Five victims.  
I list them off.  
He screams bloody murder after each one.

**"**This is for Joseph Salvatore."  
**BLAM!  
**I blow out his other kneecap.

**"**This is for Renata Salvatore."  
**BLAM!  
**Left shoulder.

"This is for the Licciardello you killed."  
**BLAM!  
**Right shoulder.

"This is for Paul at the gate."  
**BLAM!  
**I shoot his right ear clean off. Well, not entirely clean.  
"He shrieks even louder.

"And this is for Vinnie."  
**BLAM!  
**The final shot is a gut-wound. I didn't hit any vital organs, so he'll still live a little while longer.

I'm not worried about the noise of my gunfire. Anyone within earshot in this part of town wouldn't want the cops around anyway, for fear of their own dirty little secrets being exposed.

Either way, it's time for something new.

I change the grip on the revolver, so that I'm holding the barrel, then swing the handgrip into his face.

**CRACK!**

The blow breaks four teeth, but he just keeps grinning at me. It's gruesome with the blood now seeping from his mouth.

I turn around to see that I'm not alone.

Giovanni and Mario Licciardello are standing there, stone-faced and grim. At this point, I don't care who sees this.  
I pocket the revolver and lean in real close to Tony.

"It took a lot of balls coming to this party after all the things you did," I say. "But killing Vinnie? That wasn't ballsy, that was just plain damn stupid."

Tony says nothing, but spits blood, bile and a piece tooth at me. It slides down my cheek like a serpent's venom, but I don't even flinch.

I unstrap the butterfly knife and flick it open.

"I was kinda hoping you'd do that."

I pin down his left arm with one hand and before he can react, ram the blade down into his open palm.  
Tony stops grinning.

He gives a strangled cry as I give the knife a twist and then pull it out. Reaching that, I unstrap the Uzi from its sling and take aim. All I want to do is waste him here and now, but for a moment I wonder if I really should. Only for a moment though.

"_Now_, we're done," I say and squeeze the trigger.

**BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!**

It's an extended magazine with forty rounds. I fire every one of them.

I turn to Giovanni. If he feels any sorrow, anger or remorse at what I've done to his son, he doesn't show it.

"Don't worry, Billy," he says, gesturing at the unmoving form of Tony. "We'll take care of things and make sure that this can't be traced back to you."

He nods once more in approval of my actions and turns to go back and comfort his brother.

Part of me also wants to go back and see Anya again, but I'm wearing Tony's blood.  
So I start walking.

Anything I started to feel tonight has been obliterated. I just keep walking, my mind on autopilot.  
I feel numb.  
Just numb.

When I finally do notice my surroundings again, I've walked the seven miles to my apartment and it's raining.

Opening the door to my apartment, I drop my weapons on the floor, rush to the bathroom and puke up my guts in the sink.

Looking up, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and what I see causes me to do a double take. When I look again, nothing seems out of the ordinary, mess on my face.  
But that glimpse showed me what I really am.

I see a grinning demon soaked in the blood of my prey; Eyes burning with bloodlust and reeking of brimstone and cordite. I see a hellish creature that can't wait to get its claws into its next victim.

I shake the image out of my head and go for a shower, hoping that I can maybe wash the blood off.

_Someone else had seen what Billy had done to Tony. She was pale-skinned, raven haired, dark-eyed woman, wearing the same dress as the other waitresses and was hiding around the corner. It was her that that gotten him past the guards and given him his instruments of death, but now he was lying on the ground in his own blood. She loved him, but she knew she couldn't do anything now, but avenge him. She wouldn't stand a chance against that enforcer face to face, but maybe here was another way to get him. A better way. Her lips curled back into a snarl, revealing a set of sharp, metal teeth, as she watched that goody-goody blonde bitch she'd been forced to work with, talking to the Australian. _

_Yes; a much, _much_ better way to settle her score against the one they called Billy the Kid…_


	10. Reconnecting

A knock at the Door wakes me from what was actually a restful sleep; the most refreshing I've had in a long time. I guess butchering people really takes it out of me. I check the time and see that it's 9 o'clock, four hours later than I usually get up.

It could be Neil, coming to check up on me after I disappeared last night, but he'd have called first. Rolling out of bed, I head for the door, cursing myself for the thousandth time for not making sure my front door had a peephole. I scoop up the Beretta along the way, holding it behind my back. Grabbing a gun just to answer the door is the kind of paranoia I hate, but it's a necessary evil as a part of the Salvatore family.

"Will? Are you there?"

Anya.

Just the sound of her voice and my legs are rubber. I toss the Beretta and fumble with the dead-bolt. She smiles when I open the door and in that moment I could take on this whole stinking town, just for her.

"Anya," I croak, "Hi."

The dress is gone, replaced by a pair of faded blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt, but she still looks drop dead gorgeous. She could wear a dirty old potato sack and still look like a million bucks.

"How did you find me?" I ask.

"I talked to your friend," she explains. "Neil was worried about you, but didn't want to disturb you. He seems like a good friend."

"Yeah," I say, "He's the best."

There's a few more seconds of awkward silence before I can talk again.

"So…uh…you wanna come in?"

"Actually, I haven't eaten yet, so I was gonna go get breakfast," she says. "I was wondering if you wanted to come with me."

I can't get dressed and out the door fast enough.

I walk on the side closest to the road as we head down the street, an old habit from back when we were courting. It's the only chivalrous thing about me.

We go to Hopper's, a little joint around the corner from my apartment, modelled after the little green café in Edward Hopper's famous _Nighthawks _painting. I go there a lot; they do some great grub there. I get my usual Canadian Flapjack Stack with extra maple syrup and bacon, she gets some kina muesli and a fruit salad.

"You didn't come back last night," Anya says.

"It got pretty messy," I tell her. "I didn't want to see it. Then I went home to clean up. Had a big day."

"Did you kill him? Tony, I mean."

I don't answer and change the subject.

"It's good to see you again Anya. I really missed you."

She gives an apologetic half-smile.

"I missed you too," she says and pulls out the pendant that I'd given her the night before she left. "Every day."

I feel myself smiling too.

"Wow, I can't believe you kept that thing after all these years."

"I liked it," she tells me. "And I wanted a reminder that good things _can_ come from this crappy town."

She pauses and stares into her mug of herbal tea, searching for her next words.

"I know it couldn't have been easy for you, with me leaving like I did. It was hell for me."

I nod. It wasn't a lot of fun for me either.

"And I'm truly sorry."

"Don't be," I say, "It's not your fault."

"Yeah, but still, I feel terrible about it and you probably hate me now."

She looks up at me with those magnetic, crystal-blue eyes.

"But do you think you and me are gonna be okay?"

"Of course," I say, and I mean it.

There's that damn smile again.

"So, how do you like your new job?"

She grimaces.

"The pay's dismal, the hours are awful and I get drunk guys grabbing my ass every night. That's the worst part. I can deal with the lousy hours and pay, but I hate them pawing at me like I'm just a piece of meat. Sometimes I worry that it might get worse, but I need the money. I just don't know what to do."

**SPLUTCH!**

We look down at the sound. I've crushed my paper cup of coffee without realizing. Luckily it wasn't too hot. The thought of anything happening to Anya awoke something beneath my usually still surface.

I apologize as Nicki, the waitress, comes over to clean the mess and brings me another coffee.

"Well if you want, I could come along and kick some teeth in for you," I offer, eventually.

She laughs.

"That's sweet of you to offer, but I don't think my employers would like you beating up our clients."

"Well you don't deserve to be treated like that," I tell her. "You're not some side of ham; you're a human being and a damn beautiful one at that."

She blushes a little.

"You've always known just what to say to me haven't you?" she remarks. "You're such a gentleman."

"You wouldn't call me that if you knew the things I've done."

Even before massacring Tony last night, I've made my share of kills.

"Well you're better than most of the pigs I have to deal with, at least to me."

Now _my_ face starts to burn. It's a sensation I haven't felt in years.

She glances at her watch then stands up.

"Anyway, sorry to eat and run but I've got a tenants meeting in Old Town in half an hour."

I'm disappointed she's leaving, but she takes out a pen and writes down her number.

"Give me a call later and we'll catch up again."

She flashes another one of her winning smiles, pays and walks out, leaving me staring after her.

While I still can't my incredible luck in seeing her after so long, I worry that we'll never be like we used to. What if too much has changed between us?

I order another coffee and sit there, thinking about an angel...


	11. Yuri the Stoolie

Neil is waiting for me when I get back. The smell of his cigarette tells me this before I even see him.

"Hey, mate," he says, "Didya get to see Anya?"

"Yeah, just now," I tell him, "It was great."

He grins knowingly as he extinguishes his cancer stick in the ashtray.

"Mate, I've never seen you this happy before," then the grin drops and he's all business.  
"Vinnie's funeral will be in four days, meanwhile, I've got a lead on Ivanovich."

I push Anya to the back of my mind. I hate it, but I need to focus on the matter at hand. Pavel Ivanovich is the head of Basin City's Russian Mafiya and the name that Tony mentioned. The man that the bastard claimed had hired him to infiltrate Vinnie's party.

"What've you got?"

"I did some looking and tracked down our old pal,Yuri."

Yuri Chernyaev is a package boy, with about as much influence within the Mafiya as I have over the moon. Loud-mouthed, largely incompetent with a high opinion of himself, Chernyaev is often overlooked, allowing him to overhear a lot of important information.  
Neil and I got ahold of him and his intel Once.

"When do you wanna go see him?" asks Neil.

"Now's a good a time as any," I say.

"Aces!"

********************************************

Two hours later and I'm crouching by the bed in Yuri's apartment in The Projects. When we got here, Yuri wasn't in, so after waiting an hour, we climbed the fire-escape and jimmied open a window. Just  
as I start thinking that this is a waste of time, the front door unlocks and I hear voices.  
The loud and obnoxious one is obviously Yuri and the other, a female voice. I wasn't expecting him to have company, but we can deal with it,

"Go to bedroom," says Yuri. "I got to get ready."

"Sure thing, Sugar," replies the woman.

The woman enters the bedroom and I recognize her as the Old Town girl with the fire axe yesterday. As our eyes lock, I motion for her to be quiet, keeping my palms open, showing that I'm no threat to her.

"Sorry, Miss," I whisper, "We need to talk with Mr. Chernyaev."

I listen for Yuri in the bathroom next door,

_

"G'day Yuri!"  
"What the Fu-"  
He's cut off by a meaty slap. We here the sound of a certain Russian being slammed against a wall then slapped again. When the woman and I get to the bathroom, Neil has Yuri in a full-Nelson.

"Sorry to ruin your fun, but we need to talk."

Yuri starts cursing in Russian and Neil tightens his hold.

I turn to the Old Town girl.  
"You'd better leave, this could take a while."

"What about my money?" she asks.  
I reach into Yuri's jacket as he struggles and pull out his wallet. There's nine-hundred bucks, all of which I give to the hooker along with Yuri's expensive looking watch and an extra fifty of my own for her handcuffs.  
She smiles and leaves. Hopefully that'll deter her from coming after us with an axe.

I turn my attention to the red faced Russian.

"Hello Yuri," I say. "I'm gonna get straight to the point. Where's Pavel Ivanovich?"

He smirks.  
"I am not telling you, Billy Goat."

"Alright, hard way it is."

WHUMP!

I drive my fist into his pillow-gut and Neil lets him drop to the floor. I cuff one of his hands then haul him back onto his feet. With Neil's help, I drag Yuri over to the shower and shove him into the tub. Looping the handcuffs over the curtain rail, I cuff his other hand, trapping him and jam the plug into its hole. Neil turns the hot water on full.  
Yuri gives an amusingly high-pitched shriek as his back gets scalded.

With Neil keeping an eye on our informant, I wander out to the kitchen and come back in with the toaster. I turn off the water and rest the toaster on Yuri's shoulder. His eyes widen as he sees it.  
"Let's try again," I say. "Where is Ivanovich. Yuri curses at me in Russian again. I drop the toaster into the water and it lands with a splash. Yuri screams and goes rigid. Nothing happens for a few seconds. Neil sniggers and Chernyaev opens his eyes.

"I think you get how serious I am now. This time, I'm plugging the toaster in. I don't know if the shock'll kill you, but it's gonna hurt."

I flick the switch without actually plugging it in. I'm counting on Yuri to believe otherwise.

"Last time Yuri, where is Ivanovich?"

Yuri cracks like an egg. he's been content with bottom-feeding off the big-wigs like some over-geld, tracksuit & Chain wearing pilot-fish. Now that somebody is actually getting rough with him, it's too much.

Between sobs, he tells us how Ivanovich has gone to ground, laying low from both the cops and Boss Wallenquist.

"What d' ya wanna do with him?" Neil asks after we get what we need from Yuri, who is absolutely terrified.  
"Let him live, he's small-fry."

We go, but not before handcuffing him to the toilet, gag him and take his phone. We don't want him warning Ivanovich. I'll come back for him after we're done.

******************************************  
Four hours later, Neil and I meet up at Club Pecos. We sit at the bar and order a shot of whiskey each. We do this before every job, our little tradition, to steel our nerves and psych ourselves up. Club Pecos is a real dive: a soup of smoke and sweat, booze-soaked floors and mournful country music blaring out of the tinny speakers, but we've found that this place puts us in the right mind-set for gratuitous violence. Plus Neil rents a room upstairs for storage.

"Ready to ride?" I ask.

"Just a tick," replies Neil, "I gotta use the Gents."

I roll my eyes. Him and his small bladder.

As I wait for him, a huge lug of a man sat down on the stool, which surprisingly held his weight. I'd seen him around a few times, but never really talked to him, so I was surprised when he struck up a conversation.  
"Hey pal, you look like you're fixin' to do some killing tonight."

With what we are about to do, we won't be able to avoid it.  
"What makes you think that?" I ask.  
He flashes a lopsided grin that looks faintly deranged.  
"I got a nose for that sort of thing."

"My friend and I are going after Ivanovich."

"The Russian? No kiddin'" he says, obviously impressed. "Say, you suppose I could tag along? Sounds my kind of party."  
I shake my head.  
"Sorry, strictly Salvatore Family business."  
That's not quite true, neither Vincenzo or anyone else know about this.  
His heavily scarred face falls.  
"Yeah, I get it."  
Part of me wants to bring him along, a guy this big would be useful, but I don't wanna drag any more people into my suicide mission, just bronging Neil is bad enough.

"Tell you what though, have a couple of Brewskies on me," I tell him, slapping twenty bucks down on the counter next to him.  
The grin returns.  
"Hey, thanks pal!"  
"De Nada."

Then Neil comes back out and we leave Kadie's for what may be the last time.


End file.
